


The Mirror

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Mirrors, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mirror had been her mother's, and before that her grandmother's, and before that Cersei did not know who it had belonged to, only that it had been in their family for a very long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror

The mirror had been her mother's, and before that her grandmother's, and before that Cersei did not know who it had belonged to, only that it had been in their family for a very long time. It was glass, and its glistening handle was shaped like a woman's body. Cersei remembered Joanna holding it, turning her head this way and that to see that the maid had braided her hair neatly and evenly. And she remembered sneaking a peek into it when her mother wasn't using it, admiring her own golden locks, running a finger over the handle-woman's curves and wondering whether her breasts would one day grow to look like those cold, hard lumps.

After Joanna's death, the mirror disappeared for a time, and Cersei wondered if perhaps it had been given away, or stolen by one of the maids. It was only when she went to court that her lord father passed it to her, almost as an afterthought. She understood then that he had kept it safe for her, and she cherished it. She spent hours looking at herself in its depths, making sure that her hair was well-groomed, worrying whether a spot was appearing on her brow, practicing her smiles and frowns and pouts.

Not long after their wedding, Robert rose from her bed one morning, still half-drunk, and stumbled into her dressing table, knocking jars and combs and ribbons to the floor. Cersei stretched out a hand as if she could have prevented the mirror's fall from halfway across the room. She closed her eyes so she didn't see it shatter, but the sound chilled her even so. "You've broken it, you stupid oaf!" she screamed, scrambling out of bed and dropping to her knees where the pieces lay. A sliver of glass pierced her finger as she tried helplessly to gather them up. Robert just stood there with his mouth open, looking foolish, until she screamed at him again, wordlessly this time, and threw a pot of rouge at his head. It missed, spattering the wall behind him with red, but it still drove him from the room.

Cersei dismissed the maids who tried to clean the mess and dress her, and sat by herself in the midst of the chaos, looking at the remains of her mother's mirror. Behind the glass was nothing but tin, polished tin. She had always thought it was backed with silver or gold, but she had been deceived in that, as in so many things.

By late morning, when she had refused all other visitors, Jaime came to see her. She knew his knock at the door and permitted him to enter. He surveyed the scene, then said, "The paint would look better applied to your face than to the wall." His tone was light enough to infuriate her, even though she knew he was trying to cheer her up, and she scowled at him. Jaime reached down and took her hand, drawing her up from the floor and into his arms. She turned her face away, still angry, when he tried to kiss her, so he held her close instead. "You don't need a mirror to remember her," he said quietly.

"She meant for me to have it, though," Cersei mumbled into his shoulder. "Robert destroys everything he touches."

Jaime's hands felt gentle as they stroked her hair, still mussed from bed. "So don't let him destroy you," he whispered back.

Cersei let him kiss her mouth then, and the cut on her finger, and permitted her brother to lead her over to the bed she'd so recently shared with her husband. The temptation to contrast the two men was irresistible - Robert heavy atop her and, despite all his practice with the wenches, clumsy, while Jaime knew her body's needs better than she did herself, and his weight bearing down on her felt delicious, not suffocating. She grew slick for him in a way she never had for Robert, not even on their wedding night before she knew him for the boor he was. Jaime caressed her breast, and she hoped he wouldn't notice the fingerprint-bruises Robert had left there by squeezing her too tight. Then their bodies joined, so effortlessly - her twin inside her, just where he belonged, and mercifully, she stopped thinking of her husband entirely.

He stroked slowly at first, a look of rapture on his perfect face. Cersei ran her fingers along his cheek, his jaw, his throat, savouring the smoothness of his skin, the blush that she could draw up just beneath its surface with a mere touch. She arched up to meet him, urging him to go faster with her hips, and he knew what she wanted without the need for words. His golden hair tumbled loose around their faces until she could no longer tell where his locks ended and hers began. In the moment before she peaked, she could see herself reflected, distorted but beautiful, in the green pools of his eyes.

That evening, Robert apologized, after a fashion, and offered to have the mirror mended. "There is no need," she told him with a smile. "I have another mirror, after all."


End file.
